Earlier today, a woman at the Resort’s concierge desk suggested I might enjoy visiting one of the Resort’s famous attractions, the Whitechapel
experience. I’d heard about Whitechapel, but with so many options here at the Resort, I’d never had the chance to visit it, so I figured why not.
My first surprise when I entered Whitechapel was that it was a costume-required Resort attraction. Inspired by the Whitechapel district of London in 1888, the more sadistic Vacation Club members can act out their Jack the Ripper fantasies, while Resort companions and the more masochistic members play the part of Jack’s prostitute victims. To heighten the suspense, less than one in ten of those walking the streets inside the attraction is a potential Jack the Ripper. The rest are merely Resort employees playing extras. Everyone wore period-appropriate attire, except for the prostitutes. Let’s say that our bright red costumes were significantly more revealing.
Each prostitute had a foggy, dimly lit street corner to work. Mine was next to a small fenced-in park that pedestrians would walk by from time to time, so you never knew who is a Jack and who is just an extra. The rules for the night were straightforward. A Jack could only murder you if the two of you were alone. If there were others present, you were safe.
As the evening progressed, the terror delightfully grew every time someone approached the street corner. I knew the extras were intentionally making it difficult for the Jacks to strike, but every so often, you’d be all alone when someone walked by.
I’d just watched an older gentlemen walk past. He’d tipped his hat and continued without a word. I was still listening to the residing sound of his footsteps as he disappeared into the fog and darkness when someone grabbed me from behind and shoved me roughly back against the fence. Then, before I could react, he ran me through, the sickening sensation of cold, razor-sharp steel sliding effortlessly through my guts.
“So, my dear Destini, did you genuinely think you could elude the blade of Jack the Ripper. Pausing to painfully twist that blade in my guts, he continued, “I knew you’d be a challenge, but that I’d have you in the end.”
Stepping close, he sadistically smiled as he pushed his sword, hilt deep into my guts, cruelly continuing to twist its blade, painfully mutilating my insides. I was struggling to breathe, each shallow breath harder to take than the last. The heated sensation of blood running down my legs as I instinctively leaned against his chest, the coarse wool of his coat rough against my bare breasts.
Sensing Destini’s time was short, he viciously continued to twist his blade within her guts, “You didn’t think your death here in Whitechapel would be an easy one, did you? From a pretty little whore such as yourself, Jack the Ripper demands the ultimate price for your sins of wanton debauchery.”
Staring into her pain-filled eyes, he savagely pulled his sword downward, cutting her belly open, as he pulled its razor-sharp blade out of Destini’s dying body.
Gradually, slipping downward against the fence, I sank to my knees, staring in horrified disbelief as the pieces of my mutilated insides spilled out across the cobblestone sidewalk. I wanted to say thank you, but he’d already gone, disappearing into the fog as I lost consciousness.
Waking up after regen, I contacted the Resort’s concierge desk to try to book another evening in the Whitechapel experience. Unfortunately, they were already fully booked for the rest of my six-week stay. However, they did have a few dates available during my next visit in eight months. Just so that you know, I booked all of them.
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